They Keep On Running
by Sakurane
Summary: The Doctor has finally found a version of Clara Oswin Oswald, and they are brought together again in a snow-filled adventure. He had hope that the Universe made bargain, but the Doctor soon learns that the Universe doesn't play fair.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I do not own any of the Doctor Who characters. **

The Doctor didn't know why he chose to spend every Christmas on Earth. He had a million-and-one other places her could be, all more exciting and thrilling, and all with many few memories than he held for this planet. For as cold as the air was outside the doors of the TARDIS, his heart was even warmer. He thought about Amy and Rory and how their love had conquered all of time. Thinking of Rose no longer hurt as much as it had in his previous regenerations, and now only remembered their time together with fondness. He imagined all of them were happy somewhere. Maybe Rose and his copy were growing old, surrounded by children, or maybe even grandchildren. Last he'd checked, Mickey and Martha had retired from UNIT works and were caring for their two children, whom they'd fondly named Jack and Jenny.

He'd stopped by Donna's house a few years back, hoping to catch a glimpse of the red devil. He may not have seen her, but oh, he'd _heard _her. Despite his previous generation's guilt, Donna really had turned out alright in the end, even _better _than alright. Her memories had been erased, but her time with the Doctor _had _changed her. She was in the process of moving out of town to go travel the world. She was making a difference because some part of her knew that there was more to life than a keyboard and paper work.

He could have visited any number of people on Earth, hundreds of people whose lives he'd touched over the centuries. But there was only one person he was searching for. That was one thing about the Doctor—he very rarely looked back. He ran away from the past (or towards the next great adventure, he preferred to say), and this time he was running towards the hope that he would once again meet a certain Clara Oswald.

It had been one year (from his perspective) since he'd lost the spirited barmaid/nanny, and he hadn't yet given up on the possibility that the Universe was cutting him a break. He'd been lucky enough to encounter the girl twice, the chances of which were practically impossible in itself—but the Doctor had always loved the impossible. Pure sentimentality had brought him back on Christmas day, same as the day that he'd met Clara.

He wore the same dark red suit as he had a year ago, a top hat perched upon his head. He thought he looked quite dashing, even if he did look somewhat out of place in this century. He'd found that people mostly left you alone if you tried to blend in—and as difficult as it was for the Doctor, he could hide if he really didn't want to be found. He stalked the streets of a small town called Crestwood, no longer the scrooge that he'd been after the departure of the Ponds, but a man on a mission.

The TARDIS had a nose for things, always looking out for his best interest. She'd dropped him off in Crestwood this Christmas, and he could only assume that something important was here. Whether it was Clara, or some alien race to fight off, the Doctor needed to be here. He scanned so many streets that he lost count, searching for a glimpse of brown hair, or a familiar teasing smirk...

"Mum's going to throw such a hissy if we don't get home soon." Bethy Hannigan complained loudly, tucking her small hands into her coat pockets for warmth. She shifted from foot to foot, her nose even pinker than usual in the frosty air. The only reason that Bethy was outside at all on Christmas Eve was because her sister had dragged her down the street to her favorite bookshop. In a town as small as Crestwood, everybody knew everybody, and the shopkeeper had left the sister a key under the mat. There was hardly any theft in Crestwood, and very few people would steal books.

"I'll just be a minute," She insisted, walking up to the door of the tiny shop. It, like the rest of the businesses in town, were dark, as the shop owners were enjoying Christmas with their loved ones.

"Alright, but _just _a minute. I want to get home so I can enjoy a plate full of turkey." Bethy replied tersely. She proceeded to huddle on the nearest bench, a ways down the road, to wait. The sister thought, though not unkindly, that the rather plump Bethy really didn't need any more turkey. She slipped a gloved hand under the doormat and pulled out a small gold key, struggling a bit to coordinate the unlocking of the door. When she did, she tugged on the door, reminding herself to give the hinges a good oiling once the holidays were over. She turned on the lights and looked around her favorite place in all of Crestwood. Here, her imagination didn't seem quite so out of place, and her ideas not quite so outlandish. Her dreams of ice monsters and men in top-hats and terrifying prison were quieted by tales of even greater evil and grand adventures.

It was at this moment that the Doctor turned the corner, whistling a merry tune as he went. He was about half-way down the street when he stopped, seeing a light on in a shop. Rather than being eerie, it was cozy and inviting, both of which drew the Doctor's curiosity. The shop was like a little window in time, while the snowy landscape around it was a white canvas.

And like a beautiful window in time, the Doctor saw the face of the girl whom he'd been searching for, a girl of the past.


	2. Dear Clara Oswald

**I do not own Doctor Who or its characters. Clara is simply lovely, though, so peppery... Remember, if you hate it or love it, review it!**

&.&.&

&.&.& _One year later…_

"_Dear Clara Oswald,_

_ I find that I cannot stop thinking about you. Your laugh is like a siren's song, and your hair sparkles in the sunlight like a Goddess. I'm only in two classes with you, but you have stolen my heart. Would you consider going out with me?" _Bethy read, breaking out into giggles every few words. She and Clara were seated on the steps of their home near the countryside. The air was crisp and biting, but their laughter kept them warm.

"They're just getting more and more dramatic, aren't they?" Clara said with mirth, shaking her head. Tommy O'Donald had caught up to her in the halls at school on the last day before Winter holidays, his cheeks a frightfully red color. She'd asked him if he was alright, or if he needed to see a nurse, but he'd just shoved the letter in her hands.

Everyone said that boys liked a challenge—and Clara Oswald was just that. But she was also far too much for any of them to handle.

"That's the third one this month!"

"I know."

"And the sad part is, none of them stand a chance."

"I don't need boys to write love letters or serenade me…" Clara said.

"Than what _do _you need?"

"I won't know until I've found it, will I? Besides, I have no interest in all that stuff."

"Right, all you're interested in is books." Bethy rolled her eyes. "Clara, I love you, but sometimes you're so _frustrating. _You have boys falling at your feet, but you'd rather dream."

"And what's wrong with dreaming?"

"Nothing—until you're so caught up in your dreaming that you miss out on life."

Clara bit her lip. "That'll all change in a few months, though. We'll both be graduating. You'll marry Freddie, have a bundle of kids, and I'll get out of this town."

Freddie was a boy from town who had followed her friend around for years, until Bethy had finally agreed to go on a date with them. They'd been dating since he first kissed her in the eighth grade, and were truly happy together.

"And you'll finally get your great adventure." Bethy said, her eyes growing moist at the thought of parting from Clara. They'd been friends for as long as she could remember, and Clara was really more than that—she was a sister. Bethy was thankful every day for her family's fortune at having Clara end up on _their _doorstep, out of all other houses in Crestwood.

Clara sensed her friend's emotion and patted her hand affectionately.

"Don't worry, I won't leave you behind, Bethy. What a great adventure with no one to share it with?"

"I'm sure you'll have someone to share it with. I just don't think you've met him yet."

"What makes you so sure that I'll be whisked away by a man? No member of the male species could ever replace you, after all." Clara eyes glittered with mischief.

"But books certainly can. Come on, you, I'll buy you something from the book shop for Christmas."

Bethy didn't like thinking about losing Clara in the future—to any man, woman, or anything of the like. She could never have anticipated that she would be losing her best friend to an alien.

&.&.&.&

Clara and Bethy were given plenty of privacy in the book-shop, as the shop owner was a very trusting sort of woman. Bethy had buried her nose in the newest teen romance novel, while Clara was searching for an adventure novel that she hadn't read before, without much luck.

She glanced out the window and saw something that captured her attention immediately. At the sweets shop across the street, there was a man in a tweed blazer perusing the licorice, frowning in distaste. She recognized the twitchy and energetic way that he carried himself. If only he was near enough for her to see his _face!_

Bethy interrupted her inspection. "What is it, Clara? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Not a ghost, no… It's that man—he keeps following me. I see him everywhere. He was in a bookshop on my way home, he was at the same grocery store—he was even talking to Miss Figgins near our house."

"You're sure it's not a coincidence? He could just live around here. It's a small town, after all."

"We would have heard if someone like him moved here. I can tell that he's an eccentric sort of fellow. He watches me sometimes, but looks away every time I catch him doing it. I can't explain it… but I _know _he's not dangerous."

"You should call the police, you know. What if plans on kidnapping you or something?"

"Don't worry, Bethy, I'm sure he's harmless!" Clara laughed, shaking her head as if to banish the thought completely.

"That's what they all say, until the weirdo finally snaps! You really should tell someone, Clara."

"I am telling someone—I'm telling you, right now." She grinned, trying to ease her friend's unease.

Bethy gave her an exasperated look, but didn't push. Clara had always been an odd-ball. She saw the world a little differently, but that was why they'd gotten along so well for all these years. Bethy was just a bit too tense, a bit too shy, and far too afraid of everything. Clara, on the other hand, wasn't afraid of _anything, _and apparently stalkers couldn't even shake the girl, though she was nearly five years Bethy's junior.

Clara grabbed a book off the shelf, simply because the color had caught her eye. It was a deep royal blue, and for some reason it set her heart pounding. She opened it and found that it was a boring romance novel, as she was about to place it back in disappointment, but a slip of paper fell to her feet from the back cover. Picking it up, she examined the loopy, almost careless scrawl there.

"_The end of the story is only the beginning." _Clara read aloud.

"What?" Bethy asked.

"Someone's left a note here in this book. It says, "_The end of the story is only the beginning." _That's a funny thing to say, isn't it? Doesn't make much since, but it _is _rather romantic."

"It sounds like something _you'd _say, actually."

Clara's mouth turned up at the corners as if this pleased her. "I suppose that you're right about that."

She put the slip of paper in the pocket of her skirt and the book back on the shelf. She swore that she saw a flash of a smile from the man across the street, but he was gone before she could get a good look at him.

Huffing in frustration, she dragged Bethy out of the shop by the hand and set about to try and forget the man in the tweed jacket.

&.&.&.&.&

Clara loved Christmas Eve more than any other holiday—even more than her birthday. Birthdays were nice, with presents and cakes and candles, but no physical thing could ever measure up to the spirit and joy of family on Christmas Eve. The little ones, cousins and such, were all antsy with anticipation. The Hannigan living room was aglow with laughter and the lights of the Christmas tree. Everyone sang Christmas carols and watched old holiday movies, doggy piling together on the couch and the floor. Clara loved to feel like she was a part of a time filled with so much love.

When she said goodbye too her aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandfather with kisses to the cheek, she felt a warmth in her chest. She was so _lucky _that they accepted her as a member of the Hannigan completely unconditionally.

"I think it's time for us to head up to bed—Santa won't visit us otherwise." Mr. Hannigan announced teasingly. Mrs. Hannigan, his jolly wife, was yawning beside him.

"I suppose you're right." Clara agreed, and she went upstairs to the bedroom that she shared with Bethy. They changed into their nightclothes and fell asleep very quickly in the respective beds.

Clara awoke just past midnight for no apparent reason, but she felt compelled to go to the window. She squinted through the falling snow and made out the figure of a man sitting on the small bench in their front yard—the same man who had been appearing around town. Her curiosity outweighed her alarm, as it nearly always did.

Why was the man waiting outside of her house? And why did he seem so completely at ease just looking at the sky?

Clara made the sort of impulsive, split decisions that she was known for. With two mugs of steaming how chocolate in her hands, and a heavy coat over her night gown, and stomped out into the snow in her untied boots. She closed the door after herself quietly so that she wouldn't wake the Hannigans.

The snow crunching beneath her feet betrayed her presence to the man, and he leapt to his feet.

She spoke first. "Here, take this before you freeze to death. It's my secret recipe, so if you ask me, I won't tell you."

The man accepted the mug that she offered him, his angular face watching her questioningly. She walked over and sat on the bench, and after a few tense moments, he sat down too. He didn't seem bothered by the cold at all, though his jacket couldn't have done much to protect him from the elements. Snowflake fell on his nose and eyelashes, but disappeared just as quickly.

"Why are you following me?" She said this easily, like she shared hot chocolate with a man in the snow on Christmas Eve often.

"Who says I'm following you? Who says anything about anybody following anybody?" He said, surprisingly perky for someone who was in the process of becoming a popsicle.

"You can't fool me—you're not very good at being sneaky. Besides, you're camped out on my doorstep in the middle of a snowstorm on Christmas Eve, which isn't very normal behavior. I only want to know why."

"Sharing hot chocolate is a rather strange reaction to being stalked." The man said with a small smile. "I could be quite dangerous, you know."

"You don't look like you could hurt a fly, you're so thin," She snorted, continuing with a grin, "Besides, if you try anything, I can take care of myself. I'm trained in karate."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, and I'm very good." Clara insisted.

After taking a moment to appreciate the warm mug in his hands, the Doctor said, "I can't tell you yet."

"What?"

"I can't tell you why I keep following you."

"Not _yet?" _ She repeated in confusion.

"Maybe not _ever." _He clarified.

Clara regarded the pale, gangly man and wondered out-loud, "Do you know me?"

It was perhaps the deepest question that she could possibly ask—for both she and him. Clara wondered if this mysterious man knew something of her past.

"I knew a part of you once. Maybe"

She didn't know how to respond to this, because his words made very little sense. She had a feeling that no matter how many questions she asked, he would avoid answering them directly. Perhaps it really wasn't her place to know.

"Are you happy here?" He asked suddenly, and Clara was taken aback once again.

"That's a strange sort of question, isn't it? Yes, I suppose I'm happy. You can find happiness anywhere, if you look hard enough."

"Maybe you're right. But sometimes it's easy to forget."

He seemed much older as he said this, as if he had many lifetimes weighing on his shoulders.

"You just have to surround yourself with good, happy people, who'll help you remember."

This made the Doctor think of all the companions he'd shared his long life with, all adding a certain joy and wonder that he never could have achieved on his own. They were all precious to him for that reason, and the loss of the individuals always left him raw.

"It's Christmas Day now." He said. His instinctually knew that it was past

twelve—he was a Time Lord, after all, it was in his blood to be sensitive to the passage of time.

Clara looked at him with surprise. "Is it, now? I'll take your word for it."

She believed him, though she didn't know why, because she usually questioned everything.

A yawn escaped her, and she covered her mouth with her hand.

"That's your body's way of telling you it needs rest. You should listen to it."

"I don't like listening to anybody, my body included." She said with a smile.

"But just think—you go to bed, and when you wake up, it'll be Christmas morning! What can be better than that?"

His boyish enthusiasm was infectious, and suddenly Clara didn't think that tucking herself into bed seemed so bad.

"Alright, you've convinced me. Both Santa Claus and the Sandman will get to pay me a visit tonight." She pulled her coat tighter around her and stood up. "You can keep the mug if you want. Just leave it on my doorstep when you're done."

This was just an excuse so that she could talk to him again, but the Hannigans wouldn't miss the mug, anyway.

"Goodnight, Clara," He said, "Sleep well."

She trudged back to the house, looking back every few steps to see if the man was still sitting on the bench. She almost expected that he would suddenly disappear into the air, like some fantastical being or mystical creature. When she closed the door, she resisted the urge to thrust the door back open to assure herself that the man was real.

She realized halfway up the stairs that she hadn't asked for his name, though he'd known hers.

It was yet another mystery to add to her collection.

She sighed with contentment and was about to settle back into bed, when a faint glow from under her bed caught her eye. She crouched and reached for it, feeling the slip of paper from the blue book. She stared with confusion at a second sentence, while the first was hidden in the darkness. The words glowed with the intensity of a firefly's glow, and just as sweetly.

"_I'm coming for you, Clara Oswald, so just keep on running."_

&.&.&.&.

**This has been another sort of introductory chapter, with The Doctor finally meeting the new Clara in person. Next chapter, an alien threat comes to Crestwell, and The Doctor saves Christmas again! Will he take a risk and let Clara into his world?**


End file.
